


Bewitched by You

by irisadler



Series: Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Demon Hunter!Alec, Healer!Magnus, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Prejudices against Magic, Softest Magnus Bane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-05 17:54:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16372298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisadler/pseuds/irisadler
Summary: Demon hunter Alec knows for a fact that nothing good ever comes of magic. It's a vile, awful thing that defiles everything it touches.Healer Magnus has built his whole life around helping people. When a handsome, troubled man shows up on his doorstep, he follows his instincts and invites him in for tea and cookies.





	1. Do You Believe in Magic?

**Author's Note:**

> My eternal gratitude to  
> ~ The lovely [Taupe](http://taupefox59.tumblr.com/) for being the nurturing force behind bringing this fic to life! Check out their work [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taupefox59/pseuds/Taupefox59)!  
> ~ The wonderfully encouraging [KAM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmudleyKAM/pseuds/SmudleyKAM) who read this at the last minute when I was uncertain and in need of direction. You're a rockstar!
> 
> Inspired by this [tweet](https://twitter.com/malecsau/status/1051466414127816704)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's magic if the music is groovy  
> It makes you feel happy like an old-time movie  
> I'll tell you about the magic, and it'll free your soul  
> \- [Do You Believe in Magic, The Lovin' Spoonful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUljHEpeIgs)

It’s the last day of October. The air is crisp, bare trunks and branches just starting to peek through fall foliage. Children are playing in the street of the picturesque neighbourhood, taking advantage of the warm afternoon.

Alec Lightwood takes in all of this automatically but ignores it. He’s on a mission, after all, and he takes his job very seriously. It’s a good thing, too, since people’s lives depend on his ability to execute orders swiftly and without question. Alec excels at what he does, and today, he’s here in this part of town because he’s been given his next target.

He remembers the fury on his commanding officer’s face as he’d said the name, clipped and cold.

“Magnus Bane.”

Alec had nodded, remaining in parade rest as he received the information. Target. Location. Orders. No explanation, but then, there never is.

Sebastian had smiled, quick and a bit dangerous, showing gleaming white teeth, and he’d clapped Alec too hard on the back. Alec hates that, which is exactly why Sebastian keeps doing it. And Alec will never say anything because it would only invite trouble, and he gets enough of _that_ on missions.

Now, Alec scoffs at the wooden sign on the fence: _Magnus Bane. Healer._ Yeah, right. Magic may be powerful, but it certainly isn’t good. Destructive, sure. Chaotic, definitely. But healing? This user must be more delusional than most. Ever since Alec was old enough to be taught, he’s been learning about magic, and his job has shown him the truth of it. Magic can summon demons, conjure fantastical visions, entice the unsuspecting… but _heal_? That’s just laughable.

Alec pushes open the garden gate and heads down the cobblestone walk towards the house. It’s a cottage. One might even call it charming. Alec wouldn’t. He simply doesn’t have time to search for the perfect words to describe this place, though there is a lot to see and say. The wild garden is full of life in the mellow light, the cottage itself slightly haphazard in shape, its walls a whimsical teal. But Alec is intent on what lies within.

Every sense alert, Alec approaches the door - impractically rounded at the top, sunshine yellow paint just starting to peel - and knocks. His usual tactic is a little more violent, more ‘act first, apologise later,’ and he has a penchant for kicking in doors, but he’s on a special mission today, something more diplomatic. He’s under orders to deliver a warning, which is unusual. His targets don’t get warnings because Alec Lightwood is a demon hunter, just like his parents before him. While most people might laugh to hear such a statement, it’s the honest truth. For as long as anyone can remember, the Lightwoods have fought to protect this world from forces beyond. They’ve gone by many names, Nephilim and Shadowhunters, but these days, they’re called Guardians.

Because all the legends are true.

Well, most of them.

Some of them, anyway.

Magic. Magic is real.

Magic users - magicians, sorcerers, necromancers, and the like - leverage their ill-gotten powers for various deadly and nefarious purposes. Magic corrupts, twisting the spirit of the user into something unrecognisable, something foul. It may not be _evil_ , but it’s certainly too powerful for any individual to wield without dire consequences.

Alec has seen that firsthand, fighting with blade and bow against denizens of hell or other domains. Guardians spend most of their time bringing down threats magic users have unleashed on the world without directly dealing with the practitioners. Privately, Alec thinks the system is inefficient, but he’d never say so aloud. He can hear his mother’s voice in his head now. “Do. Don’t question. _Do._ ”

So now, Alec does. He adjusts his leather jacket, runs a hand through his hair, and knocks on the door. As he waits, he straightens to his full height to look more threatening. His face is already tightening in a forbidding scowl, his habitual expression. He flexes his hands in his fingerless gloves, preparing himself for action just in case. There’s no telling how his target will react.

He’s ready.

Or so he thinks.

And then, a man opens the door. Alec stares at him for a moment, taking in his appearance. Somehow, he hadn’t been expecting the target to be nearly as tall as him. Or to meet his eyes with an easy smile. Or to carry with him an air of inviting tranquility. Or to be wearing a ruffled, floral-patterned apron. Or to be… well, _beautiful._

“Hello,” the man says, his voice melodious and kind, smile warm and caring. “I’m Magnus. How can I help you?”

-

Magnus Bane has always had magic. His mother used to call him her little magic boy. If the memories were tangible, they’d be old polaroids, faded with age, finger-marked and worn. They’re equally painful and dear to him, a part of him he can never quite leave behind and never wants to, even if all he can recall most days is the glimpse of a smile or the touch of a hand on his hair or the way his name had sounded falling from her lips.

Magnus’ magic is as much a part of him as his heritage, his past. It’s something he wouldn’t know how to function without, a thing that flows out of him involuntarily. Often, he doesn’t know where it ends and he begins. Sometimes, he thinks he’s _made_ of the stuff.

Magnus has felt an affinity for different labels at various times in his life - warlock, wizard, several varieties of witch (garden, hearth, and the like) - but, at the moment, he feels most drawn to ‘healer.' It’s appropriate, he thinks. It’s what he’s all about. He offers healing in whatever way he can, though much of what he provides has nothing to do with magic at all. But then, there’s an innate magic in the steam that rises from a cup of cocoa, in the flavours of a home-cooked meal, in the scent of flowers fresh from the garden. It’s something that’s difficult to quantify, a warmth and comfort that defies description and takes immense magical skill to replicate. Magnus might have the skill required, but he doesn’t use it particularly often. After all, why go to the effort when brewing a cup of tea is much easier?

Magnus is in the middle of washing the dishes when he hears a knock on the door. He turns off the water and dries his hands on his apron - a frilly, gaudy thing Mrs. Applebaum down the street gave him. “It’s _vintage,_ ” she’d said, eyes wide and earnest. He’d thanked her just as earnestly, and it’s become his favourite. It’s got pockets right where he needs them and hangs just right, and there’s a kind of magic in that too, he thinks.

Hands dry, Magnus heads into the living room and hurries over to open the door. He looks up, slightly surprised to have a visitor even taller than himself, and sees a man scowling intensely at him. He’s clad almost entirely in black leather, holding himself stiffly, an imposing figure with his hands twitching like he’s spoiling for a fight. His expression is dark and forbidding, almost like he doesn’t want to be seen, which seems odd, but Magnus has learned from experience never to discount a first impression.

And then, Magnus meets his eyes.

**_Oh_** _._

They’re beautiful eyes, Magnus notes almost absently, a distant part of his mind trying to memorise all the hues they hold. But there’s such _pain_ there, such turmoil and struggle that Magnus can’t focus on anything else. This man is a _fighter_. Not by nature, perhaps, for there’s gentleness there too, but the softness inside of him is scarred and bruised and buried deep. As if… as _if_ … Magnus’ eyes widen. As if he fights not just the world but _himself_. And the _strength_ it must take to function, to _live_ with such a battle waging within him… it takes Magnus’ breath away.

Magnus has to _do_ something, has to try to soothe, to _heal._ His hand is reaching for the man’s before he’s even aware of moving. The man’s eyes flicker warily, so Magnus slows down, telegraphing each movement. The man looks down when their fingers touch. He looks dumbfounded, completely unmoored by the simple contact, and Magnus very carefully doesn’t think about the implications of that. He doesn’t even open himself up for his customary read, sensing there would be far too much for him to take in all at once. The last thing he wants right now is to be flooded with so many impressions that he’s paralysed and unable to act. He still hasn’t forgiven himself for the last time.

Instead, Magnus takes the man’s hand and tugs gently. The man still looks a bit shell shocked but doesn’t resist, just follows. That’s a good sign, Magnus thinks. And while he might not know exactly _how_ to help yet, he thinks he knows where to start.


	2. A Kind of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One golden glance of what should be  
> (It's a kind of magic)  
> One shaft of light that shows the way  
> \- [A Kind of Magic, Queen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0p_1QSUsbsM)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This, erm... keeps growing. *Facepalm* Only one more chapter after this! Maaaybe two.
> 
> Continued heartfelt thanks to the lovely Taupe & KAM for all their help and encouragement!

Alec blinks.

It feels like he was just standing in the doorway, looking at an unexpected man with a smile that’s somehow both bright and calm.

Now, he’s somewhere else entirely, in a spacious kitchen with sunshine streaming in the big bay windows and turning the buttery walls golden. For all its modern conveniences - the stand mixer in the corner, the sleek chrome of the finishes - the room feels somehow timeless. No, something more active than that. As if it actively _resists_ time. A rebel defending its space against the ruthless ravages of the clock.

Alec looks down in a bit of a daze. He’s seated in a chair at a kitchen island. There’s a maroon throw draped around his shoulders, soft and comforting. There’s a sleepy grey and white cat ensconced in his lap, purring softly.

Alec looks up. The man, Magn- (No. He’s a _target._ Keep it professional. **_Bane._** ) is smiling at him from across the island.

“How’s that? Better?” Bane asks, handing him a mug of tea. Alec’s fingers close around it automatically, his palms cradling the warm, smooth surface. He looks down for a moment, inhaling the fragrant steam, some part of his mind registering that the tea is the perfect temperature for drinking.

Alec looks from the tea to the man in front of him. He stares for a long moment.

What the hell is going on?

How did they even _get_ here?

What kind of evil master plan _is_ this?

...How does the cat fit in?

Alec’s met his fair share of both magical creatures and magic users, but never one who operates like this. Is this some kind of illusion, like the succubus from last month, creating a mirage to entice him? Perhaps some kind of mind control? Automatically, Alec turns to his Voyance rune, looking beyond this reality to try and ascertain the truth of the situation.

There’s nothing.

Well, that’s not true. There’s so much to see he nearly reels back, but there’s none of what he’s looking for. No ulterior motives, no sinister purposes, nothing but a simple, honest desire to _help_.

But that can’t be. This man - his _target_ , Alec reminds himself - is a magic user.

This flies in the face of everything Alec knows about practitioners of the mystic arts. There must be more to it.

And yet, it seems some part of him is lulled to security by his findings because Alec finds his hands rising of their own volition, bringing the mug to his lips, and he drinks.

It’s a glorious cup of tea, milky but strong with just the right amount of sugar. Just the way Alec likes it. And the fact that it’s tea is a little surprising in and of itself. Tea has always been Alec’s drink, but most people don’t think to offer it. Coffee is the presumed go-to caffeinated beverage, especially when going to work means facing down fearsome creatures from other realms with only a seraph blade.

Or, in Alec’s case, a bow. He can never articulate why, but it just feels right to him. He can use a blade, of course. He’s a _Lightwood_. His mother wouldn’t hear of him foregoing sparring training or slacking with the blade in favour of other weaponry. But there’s something about the bow. The polished wood feels right in his hand, strong yet yielding, warm and responsive, _alive_ in a way the cold hilt of a seraph blade could never be.

-

It’s maybe ten minutes later. Alec’s cup is nearly empty. He’s still speechless.

Somewhere along the way, he apparently agreed that, yes, cookies would be lovely, so now, Bane is puttering around, mixing up a some fresh batch of oatmeal raisin. Alec’s favourite. How does he _know?_ Alec wonders dazedly. He can’t seem to take his eyes off the man, who’s chattering cheerfully about everything and nothing, all the while dumping ingredients in a mixing bowl without a measuring cup or recipe in sight.

Bane keeps moving around the kitchen with the grace of practiced ease, putting a tray of cookies in the oven and setting a timer. And he keeps _touching_ Alec, brushing past him, patting his shoulder as he reaches around him, hand resting on his for a brief second as he refills Alec’s mug from an actual china _teapot_.

It’s… a lot.

People touch Alec, of course. They must. Right? Why just today, Sebastian had clapped him on the back. True, it was more to be irritating than affectionate, but still. That counts. And his coworker, Jace, doesn’t know what personal space is, always giving him unwanted high fives or turning handshakes into ‘no homo bro hugs’ (for some reason, he always feels the need to clarify this point). So, Alec gets plenty of physical touch.

Not from his mother or father, but that’s perfectly normal for a lot of people, surely. His sister was the exception, but she’s currently off in Lisbon, no doubt dazzling the entire population of the city without even trying. With Izzy, affection had come easily. Well, relatively. Izzy normalised physical contact in a way not many could, making each touch an easy, unconditional thing. A way to express her affection without obligation.

Alec shakes himself. What is all this nonsense? He’s a Guardian, a slayer of the things that lurk in the shadows. He’s above such things. He doesn’t _need_ anything or anyone. He’s a _Lightwood_ , dammit. This is his legacy. Hunting things. Breaking noses and accepting the consequences.

And still Bane keeps touching him.

Despite the complex emotions he can’t really sort through in this moment, Alec suddenly realises he hasn’t been this relaxed in… he can’t even _remember_ how long. He’s torn between never wanting this moment to end and falling back on his usual MO of surliness.

He chooses the latter.

“What did you _do_ to me?!” he demands suddenly, banging his fist on the table, making the utensils in the drawers rattle and scaring the cat away. He immediately misses the little creature’s comforting warmth but tries not to think about it.

Bane turns, surprise on his face.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Alec says, forcing the usual scowl back onto his face. “What _is_ this? Sorcery? Some kind of charm spell? Did you drug the tea?”

Bane’s eyes widen. “Nothing of the sort. You looked… like you needed a break. And a friend.”

Alec’s speechless again.

“Look,” Bane says with a sigh. “You’re obviously a Guardian.” He indicates Alec’s runes. “I’m guessing Sebastian sent you. He’s got his panties in a twist because I won’t ‘get off his turf,’ as he terms it. Nevermind that I was here long before him. Or that I’m not hurting anyone. In fact, _I’m_ the one cleaning up after _him…_ but anyway… Look, friend, if you still feel the need to take me in or whatever once you’re done with your snack, I’ll go quietly, don’t worry. But for now, take a minute. Rest. You look like you need it.”

A melodious chime sounds and Bane smiles. He pulls on a pair of bright red oven mitts, retrieves the tray of cookies, and carefully removes a few from the hot tray, putting them on a plate and and sliding it across the kitchen island to Alec before serving him a glass of cold milk.

“What trick is this?” Alec asks gruffly. “What’s in these?”

This time, Bane doesn’t seem fazed. “You watched me make them,” he points out.

“Yeah, but... _magic,_ ” Alec grumbles, staring at the delicious-looking cookies on the plate in front of him, his mouth watering.

Bane sighs, takes a cookie from the plate, and stuffs it in his mouth. “See?” he mumbles, mouth full. “Mmm… good batch…”

Alec should argue. Should resist. Where the fuck is his usual stubbornness, the willpower that makes him so good at his job? His dogged determination has gotten him through many a difficult situation.

Instead, for reasons he can’t explain, he takes a bite of cookie. And immediately groans. Because it’s _perfect,_ buttery and chewy and not too sweet, with the perfect raisin-dough ratio.

He glares at Bane and takes another bite.


	3. Strange Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're walking meadows in my mind  
> Making waves across my time  
> Oh no, oh no  
> I get a strange magic  
> Oh, what a strange magic  
> \- [Strange Magic, Electric Light Orchestra](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Wtj59opWKg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we reach the end! For now, at least, though my mind is bombarding me with possibilities for the future of this au... sigh. ***THANK YOU*** so much to all of you for reading and kudosing and commenting. I tripped and fell in love with this au, and it brings me so much joy to know that others like it too. <3

They’re in a kind of standoff, Alec grimly eating one delicious cookie after another as Bane leans against the counter sipping from his own mug and giving Alec that same easy smile. It gets under Alec’s skin in ways he can’t explain. It’s infuriating, all smug and self satisfied and… the _nerve_ of the man! How _dare_ he!

Most of all, it’s infuriating how much Alec _likes_ it.

Fortunately, the doorbell rings. It sounds like wind chimes. Of course it does. The man probably wears patchouli and ‘communes with nature,’ Alec thinks dryly.

Bane starts. “They weren’t supposed to be here until later!” He flashes Alec a slightly apologetic smile, picks up a giant tub full of candy, and heads for the door. Alec doesn’t know what to do. For a long moment, he stares at the cat. The cat stares back. And then Alec grabs his milk and cookies and follows Bane. It’s a better tactical decision to keep the target in his line of sight, that’s all.

He’s just in time to see the man snap his fingers and _transform_.

Gone are Bane’s flowery apron, his soft sweater, his simple jeans. He’s suddenly resplendent in something that can hardly be called a costume. It’s far too organic, too well-fitted. Bane is… a _dragon_ , his skin shimmering purple and green, seemingly covered in iridescent scales. As he moves to the door, his long tail moves _with_ him, brushing the floor. His hand on the knob, Bane turns to Alec and flashes him a wide, excited grin. Alec draws in a shocked breath when he sees the man’s transformed face. His eyes are golden yellow and slit-pupiled, his nose protruding in an actual snout. Surprisingly, his teeth are the same, not the fangs Alec half expected to see. But when Bane opens the door, Alec begins to understand.

There’s a chorus of shrieks at the sight of the dragon in the doorway as the toddlers and young children exclaim over Bane’s appearance. They all seem to know him, and he beams at them, his smile not the least bit scary despite his otherworldly appearance. _A friendly dragon,_ Alec thinks, blinking in confusion. Whatever he had expected from today, it hadn’t been a _witch_ turning into a _dragon_ to… hand out _candy_?

Alec knows about Halloween, of course, though he’s never been witness to this particular ritual. Still, the whole scenario feels surreal and bizarre.

Because now Bane is kneeling, handing out different kinds of candy without hesitation as though he knows exactly what each child wants. For the parents, he has neatly wrapped parcels that apparently contain baked goods. Not a single person is forgotten or neglected, and each walks away with a smile on their face. Alec has never seen anything like it. Even the shy little girl at the back has her chance with Magnus, getting up on her tiptoes to whisper into his ear while he crouches down, his face genuinely delighted by whatever she’s saying, his focus entirely hers for that moment. When everyone’s received their fill and more, Magnus waves goodbye and the group continues on their way.

Magnus steps inside and closes the door, turning to Alec with a grin. “I just _love_ Halloween, don’t you?” he asks, voice warm with enthusiasm. Alec gapes at him.

“C’mon, friend,” Magnus says, threading his arm through Alec’s and steering him back towards the kitchen. “I calculate we have about twenty-five minutes before the next group. Plenty of time for some more cookies.”

Too busy staring bemusedly at Magnus to watch where he’s going, Alec trips over the small step going into the kitchen. Magnus tightens his arm in Alec’s and reaches out his other hand, pressing it firmly to Alec’ chest, stopping him from falling. Does everyone run this warm, or just Magnus? Alec wonders. Even after he moves away, Alec can still feel the heat of his touch through his clothes.

Alec finds his tongue again after a few sips of tea. _Another_ perfect cup, damn the man.

“What’s…?” He gestures at Magnus’ appearance.

Magnus looks down at himself. “This? Oh, it’s a costume. It’s Halloween, you know,” he says gravely, as though he takes the occasion very seriously.

“Yeah, but you…” Alec mimes snapping his fingers.

“Used magic?” Magnus says. “Yes. I wasn’t expecting you, you see, so I didn’t have time to put my costume on. I had to improvise.”

 _Improvise._ Is that what he calls it? More like… well, Alec isn’t sure _what_ to call it other than magic.

“It’s _magic,_ ” he says accusingly.

“Yes,” Magnus says cheerfully. “Yes, it is. So are a lot of things.”

Magnus isn’t getting it.

“Magic is _bad,_ ” Alec says.

Magnus frowns. “No, it’s not.” His voice is firm and sure.

Ah, now they’re on familiar ground.

“Of course _you’d_ think that,” Alec sneers. “You’ve been corrupted by the stuff.”

It’s Magnus’ turn to stare. _Got you now,_ Alec thinks smugly, but then Magnus throws back his head and laughs. It’s a gorgeous sound, rich and full, shaking his whole body. _God, he’s beautiful._ Alec shakes his head, willing the inappropriate thought away.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he says stubbornly. “It’s a very serious thing.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Magnus says, smiling at Alec. “I just…” He trails off, studying Alec’s expression. “Oh… you really believe that, don’t you?” he asks, his face sobering. “Oh dear… I’m so sorry, friend. There’s so much _wonder_ in life you’re completely unaware of. I wish I could show you.”

Alec snorts. “I’d like to see you _try,_ ” he says defensively, unglamouring his weapons so Magnus can see he’s prepared to fight if need be. He doesn’t want to, truth be told, doesn’t even want to _mention_ such things in this sun-dappled kitchen, warm and redolent with the sweetness of cinnamon. This room feels removed from the rest of the world, from _Alec’s_ world in particular.

“I would,” Magnus says simply. “If you’d let me.”

Alec scoffs, unsure how to respond.

“Think about it,” Magnus says quietly, perching on the edge of the counter and sipping his tea, swinging his big dragon feet with their exaggerated, yet somehow nonthreatening claws. “You know where to find me.”

Alec laughs, a bitter edge to the sound. “Fat chance.”

Magnus smiles at him. “The offer’s open, friend. I hope you’ll consider it.”

How can the man be so _nice_ to him? That’s the part Alec can’t fathom. Magnus knows who he is. He _has_ to know Alec hunts those like him. And yet, the man’s called him friend since the moment they met, has made him tea and cookies, has been nothing but kind.

Alec’s still mulling this over when the wind chimes sound again.

Magnus sighs. “They’re early.” He slides off the kitchen counter and sets down his mug. As he passes Alec, he holds out a hand. “Well? Are you coming?”

Alec doesn’t understand what the hell it is about this man, this place, this _day,_ but he takes the man’s hand before he knows what he’s doing. Soon, he finds himself kneeling next to Magnus handing out candy to children, their excitement making _him_ smile too, wider than he knew he could. And if his heart does funny flips whenever the friendly dragon flashes a grin his way, Alec ignores it. His mind can only handle so many incomprehensible things in one day.

-

The afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. Alec might think it was magic except that he’s been with Magnus the whole time and hasn’t seen a hint of a spell except for the costume thing.

Eventually, however, the sun slips below the horizon, the vivid sunset turning into a velvet dusk.

With a reluctance he can’t explain, Alec readies himself to leave. Magnus accompanies him to the door. As Alec walks past him, Magnus reaches out a hand to stop him. Alec turns in confusion, and Magnus gently tugs him in for a hug.

Alec stiffens, unsure what to do. What it _means._ Magnus doesn’t seem to notice or care. He just hugs Alec for a moment that’s both endless and far too short, then steps back. He puts a hand on Alec’s cheek for a brief moment, smiling into his eyes.

“If you ever want to learn, to _see…_ ” he says, “I’m more than happy to show you.”

Alec can’t seem to speak around this man, so he just nods, feeling awkward and tongue-tied. He waits for a moment, then turns and heads down the garden path. At the gate, he turns back. He has no idea why, but it feels like the thing to do.

Magnus is standing on the top step, watching him go. He smiles and waves, almost too fantastical to be real in his green and purple dragon form, and Alec waves back automatically. He shoves his hands in his pockets and heads toward home.

He’s halfway down the block before he comes back to himself somewhat and realises several things all at once:

He never introduced himself.

He didn’t deliver the warning he was supposed to.

He’s holding a container full of fresh cookies.

He can still feel the warmth of Magnus’ palm on his cheek.

-

Magnus should go inside and get ready for the next batch of neighborhood kids. He smiles at the thought of them. It’d been nice to see them and their parents. He takes particular joy in making each person their favourite, so it had been lovely to see Leona’s eyes light up at the thought of the carrot cake muffins, Farhad’s shy smile when he’d taken the lemon bars, Catarina’s broad grin when she’d seen the cinnamon rolls.

Thinking of Cat, his mind drifts to Madzie. She’s still shy in groups, unsurprising after all she’s been through. But she’s getting bolder, less hesitant, a little louder, and it’s wonderful to see. Magnus smiles at the thought of the costume she’d picked: the cutest turtle he’d ever seen, all dressed in green in a shell she’d conjured herself, she’d confided in a whisper.

But much as Magnus loves Madzie and the others, he doesn’t want to let go of the afternoon. He takes a seat on the edge of the step. There’s just something about the stranger from today… Thinking about him is a little awkward because, even after all the time they spent together today, the man never mentioned his name. Of course, Magnus could have found out with very little effort, but he’d suspected the man was closed to magic, and he’d been proven right.

Magnus shakes his head. It’s so sad to see Guardians kept in the dark like that, especially with the power they themselves possess, the magic they bear on their skin. Magnus would wager the man was never taught about the origins and mechanics of their runes. Some of his kind get curious and seek out answers, but apparently not him. He’s well and truly indoctrinated.

And yet… Magnus senses there’s hope. Sometimes, his magic functions as power to be called to his aid in crises or channeled into a spell. Other times, it’s more nebulous, less definable. This is the latter, a faint buzzing at the base of Magnus’ neck that whispers to him of possibilities. Magnus knows better than to indulge such thoughts, of course. These things are just as often wrong as they are right, as are all things related to the endless possibilities the future may or may not hold. But still.

There are possibilities.

There is hope.

Magnus takes a moment to think of the beautiful, lost man. He holds in his mind the feeling of sunlight streaming through glass onto bare skin, of peaceful mornings with nowhere to be. When the intention is clear, the sensation tangible, Magnus exhales, sending the message on the breeze, trusting it to find its way to the stranger. A little peace, a little warmth never hurt anyone. And it seems like that particular man could use them more than most.

Perhaps the man with no name will find his way back here again. Perhaps, someday, he will be ready to see.

In the meantime, Magnus has others to help. He stands and heads back inside to prepare for the next wave of trick or treaters.

-

Alec’s strolling through another neighborhood when a small gust of wind finds him. For just a moment, he thinks he smells vanilla and cinnamon. It makes him think of Magnus, the way the bright happiness in the children’s faces had been reflected in his, plain to see despite the modifications to his appearance.

And when did he become Magnus instead of Bane? Alec isn’t sure, but he can see the man’s easy, genuine smile in his mind’s eye.

And though he doesn’t realise it, Alec smiles all the way home.

_Magnus._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all have no idea how close this chapter came to being called [Puff, the Magic Dragon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80sMpIY6pBs)...


End file.
